Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel)

by Dittemore, Shannon

  A sob shakes her, but the brace and the sling keep her from bending to it. “It was awful, Elle. It’s . . . I don’t understand what happened.”

  “The sheriff told my dad they’re not sure,” I tell her. “He said Miss Macy must’ve lost control of the van.”

  She takes a labored breath. “S& to be owpD;he ran into something, I think. We just stopped. The hood was all crunched up. And then the van flew sideways, right off the bridge.”

  “Through the guardrail?” Jake asks.

  “Over it. And then I wake up here and my mom tells me Regina might not make it.” The misery runs faster now, and I close my eyes just to escape for a second. The room grows very, very quiet.

  When I open my eyes, Jake is functioning the way he was meant to function. Entirely in his element. His hand is on Sharon’s shoulder, and she’s fast asleep.

  “Almost done,” he says. Every bit of the fear on him has gone. Having the ability to act, to do, to fix, frees him from it. I wish I could figure out how to escape the fear that comes with my gift. Seeing only multiplies it, makes it harder to evade.

  “Try it,” the Prince had said. “That’s all I ask.”

  Even if I didn’t use the dark halo at night, if I let myself dream, it could still be helpful here, couldn’t it? Where fear and misery are everywhere. Where it renders me useless. I’d be so much more valuable if I could do something other than shake at the sight of it.

  “Okay,” Jake says. “You ready to go?”

  Sharon looks peaceful now, her head nestled into her pillow, her lips softly opened. It’s tempting to take off the brace, let her be truly comfortable. She doesn’t need it now, but it’s best to let the medical professionals decide these things.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Let’s.”

  Dad’s in the waiting room talking to Pastor Noah. Well, kind of talking. He’s got a magazine open, covering half his face, but he nods every now and then at the pastor’s remarks. It’s absolutely rude, but it’s progress. When he sees me, he tosses me the keys to his truck. They smack me in the gut and fall to the floor.

  “Sorry, baby,” he says. “Thought you were paying attention.”

  “I was. I just didn’t expect to be attacked by jagged metal.”

  Jake scoops the keys off the floor.

  “I’m going to stay here tonight,” Dad says. “We’re going to take turns sitting with Miss Macy—Noah and I.”

  “And I’m going to keep this little guy,” Becky says, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I’ll be back in the morning so the guys can go to work.”

  The gesture is overwhelming. “I could stay with you, Dad.”

  “Not a chance,” he says. “I owe her. She sat lots of hours in hospitals for me. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Still . . .”&liinow

  “And,” Dad says, standing, moving closer, “from what Canaan says, you’ve got some dreaming to do.” His voice is quiet, his look far too knowing. It’s weird having Dad in on everything. And kind of nice. “Get her home, kid. Truck’s ’round back.”

  Dad punches Jake in the shoulder as we pass. I think it’s supposed to be an attempt at camaraderie, but Jake rolls his shoulder as we walk out the door. I’m a good girlfriend, so I pretend not to notice.

  Plus, I just need to get out of here. The waiting room, the hallway, the space between the two sliding doors—it’s all coated with fear. I pinch my eyes shut and slide my hand into Jake’s. I can let him lead me to the truck, but it doesn’t really matter, the fear’s still here. It wraps around my feet and I stumble.

  Jake slips his arm around my waist and pulls me through a flowered archway that leads to the hospital’s garden walk. Through a pair of cypress trees, the sun is nothing but a bloodred blot on the horizon, the misty blue of night rising above it. It’s almost eight o’clock.

  “You ready to dream?” Jake asks. His voice is quiet. I don’t think he expects me to say yes. Which is good, because I’m not sure I can do this. I’ve had just about as much tragedy as I can stand.

  “No,” I sat’s up?

  26

  Brielle

  I haven’t seen Canaan since we returned from Danakil, haven’t heard his voice since he ushered my dad away for a talk, but Jake assures me he’s around. The warmth of the old Miller place confirms it.

  I stand in the doorway to Canaan’s room wearing a pair of sweats, cut off just above the knee, and a tank top that says Keep Portland Weird. The golden halo’s on my wrist, stilling the spasms in my gut, its heat spreading through my body, making me feel almost normal. There’s a light switch just inside the door. I curl my index finger around it and tug the room into darkness. The dove over Canaan’s bed seems to glow, the ghostly white of its wings contrasting like a great white moon against an inky sky. The window looks like the cover of a space opera, stars smeared across the horizon, caught in the trees, hanging from the rain gutter.

  Star soup.

  I’m going to intentionally close my eyes in a minute. In fact, I’m near-asking for a nightmare, but if it weren’t for that—if it weren’t for the angelic battle raging overhead—if it weren’t for the girls fighting for their lives at the hospital just across town, tonight could have been spectacular. A blanket spread across the grass, a midnight picnic, dancing with Jake and his two left feet under an overfed moon . . .

  Before I know it I’ve crossed to the window, my fingers resting lightly on the sill. I’m wishing for that. For a little bit of the sublimely normal.

  “I’m here. Let the dreams beginI’m not sure ">I cross the room and pull her into a hug. “You got away, Kay. You called for help.”

  “I slapped Damien too.”

  We laugh.

  “Thank you for coming, Kay. My dad would freak if he heard I spent the night alone with Jake.”

  She kicks off her shoes and climbs up on the bed. “I like helping. Anything I can do, you know? Did you see my face? Jake vanished my bruises, and he didn’t even need a wand.”

  “Kind of amazing, isn’t he?”

  Jake’s there then, standing next to me and pushing a warm cup into my hand. Everything’s warm here, so unlike the hospital, where fear breeds in the hallways. I raise the cup to my lips, but the robust smell I was expecting is replaced by something flowery. I think immediately of Miss Macy. I feel guilty for being here, in the peace and warmth, when she and the girls are surrounded by so much pain.

  “Tea,” Jake says.

  “Rebelling against tradition?”

  “Only thing here that’s decaffeinated.”

  I take a sip, but mostly to show him I’m thankful. The truth is I am ready now. Not to be terrified. But to get this over with. To find out what happened to Mom, to understand why her disappearance matters now. To do anything that feels like fighting. Because I am so tired of being helpless.

  The change in my demeanor isn’t lost on me. I’m greatly affected by the lack of fear here, by the peace, by the hope. I set the mug on Canaan’s side table and climb up next to Kay. Jake grabs a fleece blanket from the dresser and lays it gently on my legs, unfolding it until I’m all but covered. The halo seems heavier all of a sudden, pressing against my wrist.

  “Would you like to do the honors?” I ask, tugging my arm free of the fleece. Jake pulls the halo off and sets it on my stomach as it unravels. The pressure against my gut reminds me of my conversation with Marco, of the halo unraveling against my body while we spoke, of my inability to hide it from him.

  It wanted to be found, I think. Wanted Marco to see it, to understand. And as Jake lifts the halo from my stomach and slides it beneath Canaan’s pillow, I remember the way the halo flamed against my wrist at Olivia’s touch. I remember her eyes wide with surprise and something else: need. And as my eyes close, I wonder why the halo never warned me about Damien. Why didn’t it flash red-hot when he was near?

  “Sleep tight,” Kaylee whispers.

  Colors swirl on my eyelids now. Stains of blue and purple seep into my consciousness, orange
and red chasing after them. Gray and black fall like hail through the colors, shredd$" class="tx" aid="